


Someday

by SammysGirl666



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Moose, Mooseley, Sam - Freeform, Unresolved Romantic Tension, crowley - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-22
Updated: 2014-07-22
Packaged: 2018-02-09 22:12:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1999851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SammysGirl666/pseuds/SammysGirl666
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam leans down so that their lips are almost touching, the air becomes hot with anticipation. Crowley’s protest dies on his lips and he can’t breathe. He’s never needed to before. They hover there, in prevenient possibility, for what could be hours...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Someday

**Author's Note:**

> My first Mooseley! Not very long and not very detailed but I enjoyed writing it. :) Oh, and sorry for errors. I was too excited and decided to post it without my beta's clearance. All mistakes are my own.

Demons are a culmination of the worst of mankind’s traits. They are curated from the most vile human dispositions. A propensity for violence, lust, greed, jealousy, and anger, these are the things demons are made of. Demonizing someone, gradually picking away at the pieces of their soul, twisting the fabric of their person until they are no longer themselves, it’s a gradual deterioration of humanity. It turns the soul black, and the heart cold. This is what demons are made of.

To piece it all back together, to shine light into the darkness, to untwist the gnarled fabric...it’s unthinkable. Yet, here he is, chained to a chair, feeling himself being slowly sewn together. But the fabric isn’t strong enough, the stitches are falling apart and he looks up at Sam and sees pain reflected back at him. At least it’s him, Crowley thinks. Somehow, he imagines, Dean wouldn’t be half as forgiving. Sam, however, whispers soothing things. Keeps telling him, “just one more,” or, “it’ll be over before you know it.”

Sam spits blood onto the floor, coughing into his hand. He’s in pain too, Crowley realizes. He looks worse for wear, face gaunt and thin. They bond over their pain, Crowley thinks, they coalesce over their broken spirits. The next time Sam comes at him with the needle, he stumbles, balances himself on Crowley’s shoulder and the touch causes Crowley’s skin to break out into gooseflesh. Touch has never felt that way before. Or maybe it’s just Sam’s touch. Crowley isn’t sure.

“Is this,” Crowley chokes, voice weak. “Is this going to kill you?”

 

Sam doesn’t answer right away. He looks at his hands, the needle clutched in one. Crowley watches him, watches his eyes close in some sort of grim resignation. He wants to say something comforting but he’s a demon and sympathy isn’t something he knows how to give. Sam opens his eyes and looks at Crowley, his eyes are a bright greenish blue and devoid of emotion.

“Probably,” he says quietly.

The answer doesn’t shock Crowley. For a second, it doesn’t even register. It sits in the air between them, hangs there and curdles like warm milk. When it does finally hit Crowley, his stomach drops. It’s not a feeling he’s used to and he’s not sure he’s ever felt it before. The feeling spreads to the base of his spine, outward to the back of his throat. _Regret_. He doesn’t want anyone to die for him, especially not Sam Winchester; somebody so filled with light and goodness that the only person who doesn’t see it is the man himself.

“Why?” Crowley asks.

Again, Sam doesn’t answer right away. He picks up a new needle and rubs the inside of his arms where he’s been drawing the blood. He spits on the floor again, more blood onto the floor. He shakes his mane of hair out of his face and looks up at Crowley through his lashes. The gaunt cheeks make him look menacing. This is what fear feels like, Crowley realizes. It’s only fitting, he reasons, that the one person he’s ever felt true fear toward is the the one person whose life he’s ruined again and again.

“Everyone deserves a second chance,” Sam answers. “I’ve had mine.”

 

“I’m not worth it,” is Crowley’s immediate response.

“No one is,” Sam answers just as quickly, “but it’s not about worthiness. I’m not doing this for you, I’m doing this for me...for Dean.”

“For Dean, what does he have to--”

“Never mind,” Sam cuts him off.

“Ah,” Crowley says, “you’ve got your own sins to atone for, Sam?”

“Shut up, Crowley,” Sam snaps. Crowley does. Mostly because he isn’t really in any position to bait Sam.

Suddenly, they hear a rumble of a car outside; an all too familiar rumble.

Everything that happens next is a blur. The door bursts open and Crowley sees and hears Dean but isn’t really tuned into anything that’s being said. He hears Dean say something about stopping, about leaving Crowley here. His heart begins to pound because Sam can’t leave. He needs Sam. He needs to be saved. The fear chokes him, swallows his words and he wants to shout for Sam, to beg for his forgiveness. But then there’s noise everywhere and stars falling from the sky.

It’s the apocalypse, he thinks. The world is ending. The world is ending and the last thing he ever said to Sam wasn’t, “I love you.” More regret pushes up to the back of his throat and he starts squirming frantically in his chair, trying to get free, trying to get to Sam. Everything else fades to the background. He needs to get to Sam. He needs to be forgiven. Someone undoes his chains, someone pulls him to his feet roughly. He doesn’t pay any attention. He needs Sam.

He’s roughly shoved into the back of a trunk and the stars are still falling. He vaguely wonders if he’s dead. But unless death is the inside of a trunk then, no, he’s surely alive. After that, he blacks out. He’s not sure how long they drive and he has a brief interaction with Dean, he thinks, but his next coherent moment doesn’t occur until he’s chained to a chair; feeling more like himself than he has in three days.

“Sam,” he whispers, when he opens his eyes. The man is sitting across from him in the metal chair.

“How are you feeling?” Sam asks.

“Peachy,” Crowley spits.

“Drop the tone,” Sam demands. “How do you feel?”

“Like I’ve been laying in the trunk of a car for three days.”

“Fair enough,” Sam answers, the barest of smirks quirking his lips.

“You look like shit,” Crowley offers.

“Yeah,” Sam agrees, “turns out curing a demon takes its toll on the human body.”

“Who woulda guessed?” Crowley shoots back, just to get the last word in.

There’s more silence and Crowley feels tired of it. He misses the days where he’d hurl insults at Sam and work the giant oaf up. He wonders where he stands now; locked in a cage, unable to do anything but waste away in his own filth. He’s no longer a threat and that worries him. What is he to Sam if he’s not a threat? What is he good for if not for opposing him? At least when Sam hated him, he had felt something toward him. Is it all apathy now? Now that Crowley is nothing better than a human with a few nasty parlor tricks.

“Do you remember what you said to me?” Sam asks, leaning forward, putting his elbows on the table. “That night, when we left the church?”

“Did I say something?” Crowley asks, genuinely confused. “The night is a bit of a blur. All I remember is waking up in the back of that stinking car.”

“You told me,” Sam hesitates, now. He shifts, looking more uncomfortable and vulnerable than Crowley has ever seen him. It touches something inside of him, something that still feels disgustingly _human_. “You told me that you loved me.”

  
  
“What?” Crowley snaps. “I assure you, I did no such thing. And if I did, it was because I was completely delusional. I know I’ve made my jokes, moose, but don’t flatter yourself--”

He’s cut off by Sam standing up, knocking the metal chair back. The sound echoes off the walls of the dungeon and Sam stalks around the table so he’s standing at Crowley’s side. Crowley makes to speak again but is cut off when Sam forcefully tilts his head back. Sam leans down so that their lips are almost touching, the air becomes hot with anticipation. Crowley’s protest dies on his lips and he can’t breathe. He’s never needed to before. They hover there, in prevenient possibility, for what could be hours.

Then, ever so slowly, Sam’s lips descend on his own. It’s chaste, Sam’s tongue brushes his bottom lip, teasing, tasting. Crowley bends to his will, accepting it without any fight. The moment drags on forever and Crowley feels something hot and powerful rise up in his chest. He tilts his head back even more, trying to get more of Sam’s delectable mouth. But Sam pulls away, just enough that Crowley can’t push up to connect their mouths again. Sam tilts his head and their eyes meet.

“Is this,” Crowley struggles, swallowing hard. “Is this something I get to have?”

Sam smiles, small and sad. He runs his large hands over the stubble of Crowley’s face, fingers tracing the cheekbones. Their eyes remain locked and Crowley gets lost in the ocean color of Sam’s eyes, in the gentle curve of his cheekbones, the smooth slope of his nose. If Crowley had a heart, it would be full right now. The hot powerful feeling intensifies and he wants those lips again but doesn’t ask. He lets his words hang there, in the gap between their lips, in the forever between their hearts. Sam strokes his right cheek, gentle and careful, as if savoring the moment, as if he’s saying goodbye.

“Maybe,” Sam whispers, so that Crowley feels the breath of the answer on his face, “someday.”

“Someday soon?” Crowley prods, hopeful. Sam stands up, pulls away from Crowley. He walks around the other side of the table to the door. The wall opens and Sam steps through but not before looking back. Crowley wants to call him back, but his pride or his ego won’t let him. Instead, Sam frowns, opens his mouth and says, very quietly:

 **  
**“Someday.”

**Author's Note:**

> For updates and my other stories, find and follow me on tumblr at http://nofollowers--noproblem.tumblr.com/ (also all my other ships and fandoms) I fill prompts for the following ships: Wincest, Mooseley, Sastiel, and Samifer. Anything else, you'll have to ask me about. I'm not sure.


End file.
